


Hands

by wallofglass



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M, Pointless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 11:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallofglass/pseuds/wallofglass
Summary: Carl didn't notice how small his hands were until he gave Peter his guitar for the first time... (originally published on albionfic)





	Hands

Carl didn't notice how small his hands were until he gave Peter his guitar for the first time.

Peter was sitting cross-legged on Carl’s single bed, bouncing his head gently against the wall behind him, impatient to get his hands on the guitar. Carl plucked out a final few arpeggios, trying not to smirk when Peter turned to him, big eyes full of wonder, watching his fingers skitter across the strings.

‘Here.’

Carl sat down next to Peter and carefully transferred the guitar into the other boys reverent hands. He hissed a breath through his teeth when Peter knocked the wood against his knees. Peter was too tall, his legs took up too much of the bed, and his elbow kept nudging Carl’s slumped shoulder, but the guitar which almost eclipsed Carl settled perfectly across his lap. The pointy angles of Peter’s body melted around the instrument and he brushed one hand across the strings, grinning down at Carl, his eyes huge and sparkly. Carl leaned awkwardly over him to position his fingers, arching his back uncomfortably over his guitar. With a cruel twist of his mouth, hidden behind his hair, he yanked Peter’s hands into a B chord, expecting to hear him gasp in pain at the stretch in his fingers. He leant back to watch, waiting for Peter to give up, and hopefully leave. The boy didn’t have the attention span to learn music, and Carl certainly didn’t have the patience to teach him, but instead of the complaining and whimpering he had come to expect from a Peter who was in pain, he heard a sweet, perfectly played B chord. Peter’s huge hand curved around the neck of the guitar, his long fingers held in tension in the shape Carl had formed. Peter was grinning at him like a manic Bambi now, but when he saw Carl’s furious glare he faltered, dropping the chord off three strings in. Ignoring his precious guitar, Carl snatched at Peter’s hand and jammed his own against it, comparing the sizes through narrowed eyes. Peter’s fingers twitched; he was looking at Carl curiously. His long fingers slowly slid down, trying to twist in between Carl’s. Carl realised what he was doing a moment too late and tried to pull away just as Peter’s hand finally clasped his own. He looked down, his hand dwarfed, and winced at the memory of sitting up all night, stretching his short fingers to learn barre chords. His first swell of anger dissipated and he sighed, his head falling against the wall, his hand still in Peter’s, unsurprised that this boy who seemed to find life, and people, so easy to navigate could tease out the kind of sounds it had taken Carl years to pull out of a guitar on his first try.

They sat in silence, Peter watching Carl's face, their joined hands lying on the rumpled bedsheets. Outside the sun was dipping itself below the horizon, flushed pink clouds draped across the sky. Peter's gaze were drawn to the window, and when Carl looked up again the other boy was staring out with rapture, squeezing their hands together, the golden sun filling his eyes. Carl turned and saw only the darkness of the night sky encroaching on the blazing light. He pulled his hand away, feeling the loss of Peter's warmth, and jamming it in his jeans pocket. He felt a little guilty; he had come here to teach guitar but had ended up angrily trying to hurt Peter and sitting in moody silence. The other boy didn't seem to mind though, idly stroking the guitar that must have been giving him pins and needles by now with his released hand.

'Sorry.'

Peter shrugged, suddenly energetic, moving the guitar away and leaping to his feet, jabbering on about the songs he wanted to learn, ignoring the fact that he had barely gone over one chord. He was pulling his things together, asking Carl if he wanted to go for chips with him and Amy-Jo. The word 'no' had almost tripped over Carl's lips when Peter held out one huge, pale hand, long fingers wiggling slightly, to help him up. Carl started at it for a moment; looked down at his own hands. He felt cold and very small, even in the cramped room, with Peter's loud presence filling every corner, dragging the sunset in with his big eyes and hands, casting light into the dusty darkness. Carl reached out and took the hand, let himself be pulled up and out and along, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Amy-Jo when she saw him, huddled small behind her brother. He stared down at his feet and pressed Peter's hand once more before releasing it.


End file.
